


The Erinyes

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [61]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s still a shooting and a truly pissed off witch, but it’s a different person standing in the bedroom window.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tisiphone the Avenger

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place a week after the events of We Will Talk as Men Talk and in place of the episodes Seeing Red and Villains.
> 
> Written by Sadbhyl, beta'd by Mydeira

_"We claim to be just and upright. No wrath from us will come stealthily to the one who holds out clean hands, and he will go through life unharmed; but whoever sins and hides his blood-stained hands, as avengers of bloodshed we appear against him to the end, presenting ourselves as upright witnesses for the dead." - Aeschylus_  


 

 

Joyce puttered around the kitchen, getting the coffee started and bagels out for breakfast. Ethan was upstairs in the shower. She smiled, remembering how nice it had been to start a work day waking up in her lover’s arms. They hadn’t had time for more than soft words and a few gentle kisses before she had to jump in the shower, but it was enough for her to start the day off humming.

As the coffee started dripping, she tied up the garbage and took it out back to the trash cans. It was a beautiful clear, bright morning that suited her mood and only boded well for the day.

Until she saw Buffy sitting on the garden bench.

She hadn’t come home last night, nor the night before. But that wasn’t unusual, especially since she and Spike had become more involved. But Joyce could tell something wasn’t right. Frankly, a complete stranger walking in off the street could tell things were horribly, horribly wrong. Her daughter bore all the signs of having had a long, unsatisfying cry.

“Buffy?”

Buffy looked up as Joyce came down the steps from the porch, quickly trying to wipe away the traces of her sorrow. “Oh, hey, Mom.”

Joyce sat down on the bench next to her. “What is it, honey? What happened?”

For long moments, Buffy just stared at her hands as they twisted round and round each other. When she finally looked up, Joyce could see pain and remorse shaping her expression. “Spike’s gone.”

“Gone?” Joyce was shocked. “As in . . .” She made a half-hearted staking motion.

“No, not that. He’s just gone. Left. I’ve been looking for him for three days. Instead I found Clem last night. He said Spike left town Saturday night, and didn’t say he was coming back.” She looked back down at her hands. “Clem said he was muttering something about never being good enough. So I guess I did it again, huh?” This time when she looked up, it was with a watery smile.

“Oh, honey,” Joyce said, slipping her arm around Buffy’s shoulder, “I’m sure it’s not like that. Spike cared about you so much.”

“They all did, didn’t they?” she snapped, anger suddenly flaring up in her tone. “Angel, Riley, and now Spike. They all cared. They all loved me. That didn’t keep any of them from leaving.” She dashed new tears out of her eyes. “What I don’t understand is why it still hurts so much. You’d think after all this time I’d have started to get numb to it.”

Joyce just put her arms around her and gathered her close, stroking her back and hair soothingly. There was nothing she could say that would ease her daughter’s pain, but she would offer what comfort she could until Buffy was ready to rise again.

The quiet morning was shattered by an angry male voice. “You think you can just do that to me? You think I'd let you get away with that?”

They both rose to see a heavy set young man Joyce didn’t recognize standing inside the gate, waving a large pistol angrily. Instinctively Joyce tried to step in front of Buffy, but Buffy shoved her back behind her just as he screamed, “Think again!” And the pistol barked.

Buffy slammed back into Joyce, knocking them both to the ground. Joyce heard more shots and the sound of breaking glass. A moment later all was silent except for the pounding of feet running away.

Buffy was barely moving, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. Carefully Joyce slid her onto the ground beside her and sat up to see a crimson blossom flowering over her daughter’s chest, stark contrast to the frightening pallor of her face. Panic rose up inside Joyce at seeing her own child hurt like this, but she fought it down. “Remember your first aid class,” she chided herself, already rising to her feet. “First get help.”

She ran back into the house, her thoughts narrowed to Buffy and the phone. Snatching the cordless out of its charger, she turned back, grabbing a handful of dishcloths on her way back out, already thumbing in nine one one. “You have to send help. My daughter’s been shot. Sixteen thirty Revello Drive.” She knelt back beside Buffy, the phone cradled against her shoulder as she tried to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping wound. She tried to answer the emergency operator’s questions, but all she could focus on was the sight of her child’s life dripping away around her fingers. Finally she heard sirens, and a moment later strong hands were pulling her gently away as the EMTs went to work. “You did good,” they assured her. “We’ll take it from here.”

Joyce could only watch, still clutching the phone, as they packed the wound and stuck a needle in Buffy’s arm before lifting her onto the gurney, taking her vitals even while they were rolling the bed back out the gate to the ambulance. “Do you want to ride with us?”

Shaking off her horror, she nodded, turning back to the house. “I just . . . let me get a sweater.”

“Hurry,” the EMT warned. “When she’s loaded, we have to go.”

Nodding, Joyce turned and ran into the house, taking the stairs two at a time.

Glass crunched under foot as she came around the end of the bed towards her armoire. She paused, looking towards the window, horror dawning as she realized what she was seeing. Feet heavy with fear, she circled the foot of the bed.

Ethan lay there, a hole similar to Buffy’s piercing his dress shirt just below his breastbone, the blood turning the blue cotton black. His eyes were closed, and she could hear his slow, watery breath.

Without pausing, she turned and stumbled out of the room before tearing down the stairs. She nearly crashed into Willow as she flew out the door.

“Mrs. Summers, what’s going on?”

Joyce didn’t pause, pushing the girl out of her way to get to the ambulance, where they were just loading in Buffy’s gurney. “Wait! Please! There’s another one upstairs!”

One of the EMTs stuck her head out the door. “Another what?”

“Please, he’s shot,” she begged. “I don’t know if he’s still breathing.”

The woman turned and grabbed a large tackle box and several IV bags. “Get this one in and send another rig. I’ll stay with the other one and try to stabilize him.”

Joyce heard the driver speak into the radio, repeating the commands as the EMT pushed past her and back into the house. Joyce followed her.

Willow just stood on the porch, horrified. “Was that Buffy?” she insisted as Joyce passed her. “What happened?”

“Up the stairs,” Joyce directed the EMT, catching Willow’s arm. “Buffy and Ethan have been shot. I need you to call Rupert and the others. Could you and Tara get Dawn?” She never stopped walking, following the technician up the stairs and down the hall.

Willow followed, stopping at the window to watch as Joyce and the tech knelt beside Ethan’s still form. “Who did this?” she asked quietly.

The tech was busy at work, directing Joyce as they quickly opened his shirt to expose the sucking chest wound. Joyce wanted to vomit, but fought it down, desperate to help him.

“Who. Did. This?” Willow demanded again.

“I don’t know,” Joyce answered distractedly. “I didn’t recognize him. He was a big man, about Xander’s age. Dark hair. Honestly, all I really saw was the gun. He seemed very angry at Buffy, though.”

It seemed to be enough for Willow. “Warren,” she stated coldly.

“Who?”

The EMT looked up. “You know who did this?”

They both froze, shocked at the sight of Willow. Her hair had gone even more brilliant than normal, and her eyes were a dark, ominous black that was all too familiar to Joyce. “Warren Mears,” she repeated, her tone flat and threatening all at once. “And it’s about time someone made this stop.” She turned and strode purposefully out of the room.

Joyce looked at the EMT, who seemed puzzled, then rose to follow after Willow. “Willow, wait.” She tried to stop her, but the girl wouldn’t be swayed. “Willow, don’t do anything foolish.”

“Foolish?” She finally paused on the porch, turning to look at Joyce. “Foolish was letting those pests annoy us as long as they have. Go take care of Ethan, Mrs. Summers. He taught me everything I need to know. I know what to do now.” She turned and continued purposefully down the walk.

Joyce started to follow, but was interrupted by the wail of sirens as the second ambulance pulled onto the street in the other direction. She turned back momentarily to see Willow disappearing around the corner and surrendered to her more immediate concern, meeting the ambulance to guide them upstairs.

Within five minutes, they were loading Ethan, still barely conscious, into the ambulance. Joyce stayed right at his side, never letting go of his hand as it grew slowly cooler. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” the woman who had been tending him said comfortingly. “These people are the best. They’ll get your husband through.”

Joyce just tightened her grip on his hand, trying not to look as terrified as she felt.

The EMTs talked to each other and by radio to the hospital in a volley of medical jargon that made less sense than one of Rupert’s mystical texts. But when they pulled into the ambulance bay at the emergency room, half a dozen nurses and doctors were waiting for them. Many hands reached up to lift down the stretcher as they began shouting information and instructions back and forth. Joyce was the last one out of the vehicle. She started to follow after, but stopped at the emergency desk. “My daughter, Buffy Summers. Where is she?”

Before the clerk there could respond, two orderlies and a doctor wheeled a bed past with a familiar form in it, headed toward the elevators. “Buffy!” Joyce grabbed the bed rail, stopping them to catch her daughter’s hand.

“Ma’am, you have to let go,” the doctor said, trying to pry her away. “We have to get her up to surgery right now.”

“Mom?” Buffy spoke weakly from behind the oxygen mask she wore.

“I’m right here, baby.” Joyce began walking beside them, never letting go of Buffy’s hand.

“What happened?”

“Ethan got shot, too, honey. They just brought him in.” She looked up at the doctor. “How is she?”

“She’s stable for now. But there’s a great deal of internal hemorrhaging, and her lung has collapsed. The bullet’s still in there, so we need to remove it before we can begin repairing the damage.”

They stopped, waiting for the elevator. “Where are you taking her?”

“Up to the surgical suites on three.”

Joyce looked from Buffy back down the hall where Ethan had gone before making a decision. “Baby, I need to go call Rupert, okay? I’ll be right up as soon as he gets here. I promise.”

Buffy’s eyes sagged closed. “Okay, Mommy.”

The panic threatened again as the elevators closed between them, taking her little girl off to live or die. But Joyce couldn’t do anything about that. Except pray.

A quick glance around the waiting room showed no signs of Rupert, so she went to the bank of phones and quickly dialed in his number. “You need to get here now,” she said without preamble when he picked up the phone.

“Joyce?”

“Buffy and Ethan have been shot. We’re at Sunnydale Memorial. Ethan’s in the ER and Buffy just went up to surgery. You need to get here right now.”

“Five minutes. Where should I meet you?”

She glanced back towards the elevators before looking back down the hall towards the trauma room. “Down in ER. And call the others. They’ll need to know.”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, then hung up the phone. Joyce cradled the receiver and followed her eyes down the hallway.

The doors were closed, leaving her to watch through the window as the trauma team worked on Ethan’s still, sallow body. She could tell the rhythms on the monitors were too slow, too weak. He’d lain there bleeding for too long. She should have realized something was wrong when he didn’t come down on hearing the gunshots. But she had been too scared for Buffy to even think of anything else. Fighting back hysterical sobs, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.

Suddenly strong, warm hands were resting on her shoulders, turning her into Rupert’s comforting embrace. “I’m here, I’m here,” he crooned softly as she collapsed against his chest.

The door opened and a doctor came out to speak to them, looking very grim. “I’m sorry, I won’t lie to you. The bullet nicked his pericardium, and there’s severe bleeding. If he’d been a few inches shorter, it would have gone through the heart entirely and killed him instantly. As it is, his heart isn’t pumping blood properly, so we’re going to have to go in and try to repair the damage. We just need to stabilize his vitals and we’ll move him up.”

She looked up at Rupert. “They’re operating on Buffy now.”

“Go. I’ll stay here with him. We’ll see you up there.”

With one last fearful glance into the trauma suite, she gave up Ethan’s care to Rupert and went to be with her daughter.

She couldn’t do anything more than stand at the observation windows and watch as they prepped Buffy for surgery. The anesthesiologist was working over her, but everyone seemed focused on the erratic readings on all the monitors.

“How’s she doing?”

Joyce twisted her head to see Xander standing behind her. “I wish I knew. They say she’s stable, but she just looks so pale and still.” She went back to watching the activity in the room.

“Don’t worry, she’s strong. And remember, these guys saved you, didn’t they?” He was trying to sound cheery and supportive, but she could hear his own fear leaking through.

She sighed. “With the help of a great deal of magic. And that’s in short supply at the moment.” She watched the confusion of activity in the surgical suite. “I just don’t understand why anyone would do something like this. It just seems so random.”

“Some guys don’t respond well to having their manly toys taken away.” As they watched the preparations, he explained about the young men who had been giving Buffy such a hard time all year, and of Buffy’s latest humiliation of this Warren Mears. “Everything else he tried to do to her, she overcame. So he resorted to the only thing he had left. It’s hard to believe something as mundane as a bullet could bring her down.”

“At least it’s something that can be dealt with through the courts for a change.”

“I just hope it’s for attempted manslaughter and not the real thing.”

There was a sudden commotion in the operating room, medical professionals turning and protesting, waving their arms at Willow, who was standing in the doorway. But something was odd about her. Normally bright and energetic, now she seemed dark, as though all the color had been leeched from her. Her hair had gone the same matte black as her soulless eyes, and dark veins stood out against her cheeks and forehead.

“What’s she doing?” Joyce asked, horrified, but Xander was already in motion.

“Willow, come on out of there. They need to take care of Buffy.”

She ignored him. “Get out. All of you.”

To Joyce’s surprise, everyone followed her command.

Xander tried again. “Willow, she’s going to die.”

Willow paid no heed, crossing over to the bed to extend her hand out over Buffy. As they watched, a quarter inch piece of mashed steel slowly levitated up out of Buffy’s body before the flesh began to re-knit and the inflammation around the entry site faded back to normal, healthy pink.

Joyce gasped when Buffy sat up.

Xander was by Buffy’s side in an instant. Holding her hand and helping her slowly swing her feet over the edge of the bed, he stared at Willow, stunned. “My god, Willow. What have you done?”

“I saved her,” she replied nonchalantly, turning to walk back out of the room. “Now come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Joyce stepped in front of her. “Now, just one minute, young lady . . .”

Willow just looked her up and down coldly. “Ethan’s asking for you.” Her tone was flat and disinterested.

A cold hand squeezed Joyce’s heart. “Is he . . .” She couldn’t say it.

“He’s fine.” She turned away, starting back down the hall. “He wants to see you.”

Joyce didn’t know what to do. Something was very wrong here, but she was ill equipped to deal with it. Buffy had just been so close to death, and now . . .

Buffy took Joyce’s sweater, slipping it on over her own ruined blouse. “Go,” she said understandingly. “We’ll take care of Willow. We’re her friends, maybe she’ll listen to us. Is Giles here?”

Joyce nodded. “Downstairs with Ethan.”

“Tell him we’ll meet him back at the shop as soon as we can. And if not, well, we need to know where to get a hold of him if we need him.”

“Will you be alright? I mean, my god, you just nearly died in there!”

Buffy put her arms around Joyce and hugged her fiercely. “I’ve been almost dead a lot. And I always have to get right back to work afterwards. Go, be with Ethan. We’ll be in touch as soon as we can.” Then she took Xander’s hand and they hurried off after Willow.

The emergency room was in chaos, all centered around one room. Ethan sat up in his bed, still attached to all sorts of wires as the hospital staff milled around him. “This isn’t possible!” one doctor protested. “We were about to crack his chest. You don’t simply recover from that!”

Joyce pushed through the crowd to throw her arms around Ethan. “My god, what happened?”

“He went into cardiac arrest,” Rupert supplied. “We thought we lost him, and then suddenly Willow was here.” He didn’t look happy.

“She came upstairs to Buffy, too,” Joyce confirmed. “Then the two of them and Xander went off together. How bad is it?”

Rupert and Ethan shared a meaningful look before Rupert dropped his eyes. “It depends on how far she goes with it,” Ethan admitted. “But it could be bad. Very, very bad.”

Joyce looked at him in horror, unable now to remember how promising the day had looked just a few short hours before.


	2. Megaera, Envious Anger

Giles stood at the reading table, looking helplessly at the pile of now worthless volumes scattered open on the surface. He wanted to take a picture of it, as a reminder of the damage his closed-mindedness could cause.

The image of Willow in all her dark magic glory was burned into his brain. He tried to remember the wide eyed, innocent girl he had met for the first time seemingly a lifetime ago. God, had they all really ever been that innocent? He knew the loss of that sweet, idealistic child was thoroughly on his head, but he couldn’t name the point when it started. Was it the spell to save Angel? Or before that? Should he even have allowed her and Xander to join Buffy in the first place? But he had, and that couldn’t be changed now. If he hadn’t been so narrowly focused on Buffy’s training, he could have given Willow better guidance as well. But his issues with magic from his own earlier experiences kept him blinded. If he didn’t instruct her, she wouldn’t explore it, and then she would be safe. Ethan was right. He had failed her miserably as a mentor.

And now they were all paying the price.

He began closing up the now-blank books on the table. Centuries worth of knowledge gone, embodied in one small, angry young woman. Giles sighed. Anya would probably want to try to sell them as journals or some such. Ever practical Anya.

The front door crashed open in a jangle of bells and window blinds as Buffy, Anya and Xander rushed in, pushing before them two young men who were vaguely familiar to Giles. Xander held the two of them by the scruff of their necks as he escorted them to sit roughly at the table while Buffy came up to Giles. He could read the sorrow in her eyes. “Warren’s dead.”

Dread chilled his heart. “Willow?”

She just nodded.

“I haven’t seen a flaying like that since the Inquisition,” Anya said, equal parts impressed and ill. “No wonder D’Hoffryn wanted her for one of his girls.”

“She flayed him? Alive?” Dread turned to horror.

Buffy just nodded. “In an instant. She’s pissed, Giles, and she’s not listening to reason any more. She just tried to run us down with a semi.”

“Intentionally?” He was shocked. “She knew it was you in the car?” 

“Oh, yeah, she knew,” Xander spoke up, coming around the table. “But we had what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to stop before she got it.”

“How did you get away?”

“Sheer dumb luck.” Buffy indicated one of the boys sitting at the table. “Jonathan says she burned out her battery and ran out of power. She’s going to need a recharge, and I think I know where she’s going.”

“Rack?” he asked.

She nodded. “A cheap source for quick energy. I’m going to go find him, and hopefully find her.”

“And what about these two?” Giles indicated the cowering young men in the corner.

“She wants them dead. I’m going to try to distract her while Xander and Anya get them out of town. Hopefully a couple of hours will get them far enough away that she won’t be able to track them. With any luck, we’ll have been able to stop her before then.”

“You may not be able to, Buffy,” he warned her. “The dark magics have taken hold, and there’s very little of Willow left in there. You may have no choice.”

“I know.” Her face was determined although he saw the pain in her eyes. “I saw what she’s capable of now. She has to be stopped. Whatever I have to do to manage it.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” She turned to Xander. “You guys get on the road. Don’t stop driving until you hear from me. Not even for pit stops.”

“No problem,” he affirmed. “I’ve got enough gas to at least get us to San Diego.”

The blond young man raised his hand and in a high, quavery voice insisted, “I have a really small bladder.” 

“Well, if you want it to still be in place by dawn, you’ll learn to hold it,” Xander replied without sympathy. “Now get in the car.”

The four of them trooped out, leaving Buffy and Giles alone.

“Do you need any weapons?” he asked finally.

“Giles, this is Willow!” she protested.

“Whom you need to stop thinking of as your best friend and start thinking of as a very powerful and very angry sorceress,” he answered her sternly. 

Her head drooped. “I know. I just meant that I can probably take her down with my bare hands.”

“If she lets you touch her.”

Buffy just looked grim. “If I’d been paying more attention, none of this would have happened. I just got so caught up in my own stuff, I didn’t even see this coming.”

That startled him out of his own bout of self-recrimination. “No,” he insisted, gripping her shoulder comfortingly. “There is plenty of responsibility to go around, but in the end, it was Willow’s own choices that brought her down this road. Only she can be held accountable for this.”

She looked at him sadly. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Both, I’d imagine,” he confessed.

“It’s not your fault, either.”

“Let me come with you.” His request surprised even himself.

“I can’t, Giles.” The agonized regret in her voice made him wish he hadn’t asked. “She won’t listen to authority, and I can’t have my focus divided when I face her. It’s going to be hard enough worrying about one person I love without having to protect you, too.”

She was right, and he knew it. “I’ll send Ethan after you as soon as I can.”

Her expression went dark, and he knew she was remembering the last time Ethan had taken on a dangerous sorceress. “I don’t want it to come to that.”

“You may not have a choice. He’ll be ready if you need him.”

She nodded. Then, hugging him quickly, she disappeared out the front door.

Once again there was nothing for Giles to do but wait. He closed up the empty volumes and stacked them neatly on the table, then turned to find something, anything to keep his mind occupied and keep him from worrying about his charges. But there was no research that could help in this situation, leaving him frantic and useless. He grabbed up a broom and began pointlessly sweeping.

When the bell on the front door rang again, he snapped around, ready to act. But only Dawn and Tara came in, Tara closing the door gently behind them. Dawn ran down the steps to throw herself silently into his arms, and he held her close, grateful that there was at least one person he could offer comfort to. “It’s alright, they’re alright,” he assured her, stroking her dark hair soothingly. “If there’s one good thing to come out of this, it’s that. Buffy and Ethan are both fine.”

Dawn didn’t say anything, just held onto him. “We saw them at the hospital,” Tara supplied, reaching out to stroke Dawn’s head as well. “Mrs. Summers asked us to wait at the house, but we were both going stir crazy.”

“This might not be the safest place for you to be,” he admitted, “but I’m glad you’re here, to be quite honest.”

Dawn finally looked up at him. “What’s going on?”

He led them to sit at the table. “You know about what happened at the hospital?”

“Mom told us most of it.” Dawn looked to Tara for encouragement. “Willow really did all that?”

“And more, unfortunately. She found Warren.” 

Tara seemed to have stopped breathing. “Is he . . .?”

Giles dropped his eyes.

“Oh, goddess, Willow, what have you done?” she whispered weakly. 

He reached out to cover her hand with his own, trying to give her strength for the rest of it. “She’s slipping away into the dark, Tara. She attacked Buffy and the others.”

“No,” she shook her head violently, “she couldn’t have.”

“Why is she doing this?” Dawn sounded so young in her confusion.

He ran his hand almost fatherly down her hair. “I don’t know. She almost lost her best friend and her mentor in a senseless, random act. I would imagine she’s feeling scared and angry.”

“Well, you’ve got the angry part right.”

They whirled to see Willow and Buffy coalescing into existence by the front desk. Willow looked nothing if not smug, but Buffy’s face quickly turned a sickly pale as she collapsed to the floor. Dawn rushed to her side as Giles and Tara rose to their feet.

Willow looked down at Buffy’s prostrate body in disdain. “I don’t know why I even thought I’d have a problem finding the rest of you. Of course you all went running home to Daddy.” She turned her soulless black eyes on him. “Where are they, Giles? Where are the two little bugs I still need to crush?”

He braced himself. “Find them.”

“Oh, good, bravado. I never can get enough of that from you.” She began pacing slowly down the floor, searching with more senses than just her eyes. “I know they were here. I can smell their fear. Come out, come out, you little roaches.”

“Willow, stop it!” Tara’s voice cracked as she stepped up to confront her lover.

“Aw, baby,” Willow’s hand came up to caress Tara’s cheek, “don’t be like that. Don’t you see I’m doing this for you? I’m protecting you. I’m protecting all of us, don’t you see?”

“From everything except you,” Tara charged. 

“It’s not like that,” Willow sighed. “I wasn’t trying to hurt them. I just needed them to stop.”

“No, you need to stop.” Tara was fearless in the face of Willow’s power. “You saved Buffy and Ethan. You killed the man that shot them. That’s enough. Now let it go.”

“Enough? How is it enough?” Electricity sparked around her as her indignation grew into rage. “Those two helped Warren kill an innocent woman and try to blame Buffy for it. They tormented her for months for their own amusement. And then they sat back while he shot her. He shot her, Tara, with a pathetic little gun like she was nothing. They don’t get to do that to us. We’re beyond the influence of the mundane. Gods kill us, not weak, pathetic losers like them.” She paced slowly around them, watching with critical, malevolent eyes. “I could have stopped this months ago, but I played by everyone’s rules and acted like I thought it was the right thing to do. And look what happened. Well, no more. That bastard needed a lesson in who has the power here, and I gave it to him. No one will ever dare touch any of us ever again.” 

“But at what cost?” Tara protested. “My god, Willow, look at yourself!”

Willow’s dark lip came out in a childish pout. “What’s the matter, baby, don’t you like brunettes?”

“I don’t like you. Not like this.”

“You don’t have to.” Her eyes narrowed ominously. “You just have to get out of my way.”

Tara moved between her and the door. “No.”

“This isn’t what we do,” Buffy said, getting unsteadily back to her feet. “We don’t kill people.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “No, Buffy, you don’t kill anyone. Not anyone who really needs it. So other people get killed instead. But that’s not your fault, is it? Tell me, Giles,” she turned on him, quiet malevolence in her voice, “is the world a better place without Miss Calendar in it?”

The familiar dull pain at the sound of her name assaulted him, but he fought down the reaction. “Buffy made the right choice.”

“Liar. You always take her side.”

“We can’t just go around killing anyone who seems like a threat to us,” Buffy maintained. “Come on, do you really think Jonathan’s dangerous? He couldn’t even shoot himself!” She stepped closer. “I have to give them the benefit of the doubt. I can’t bring them back from the dead if I’m wrong.”

Willow’s face hardened. “I can.”

“Then where’s Miss Calendar?”

Willow lashed out, and to Giles’ surprise, Buffy flew backwards across the room to crash into the stairs to the loft. Both he and Dawn tried to go to her while Tara attempted to intercept Willow, but Willow was having none of it. “No interference from the crowd, please. This is between me and Buffy.” She jerked her hands apart sharply, sending a shockwave of energy smashing into all of them that knocked them off their feet. Giles crashed into the counter, cracking the back of his head on the register before slumping to the floor, barely conscious. He could hear screams of rage and the destruction of wood and glass as the battle raged around him. Fighting against the pain and nausea, he struggled to sit up, barely able to support himself against the shattered display case. He dragged his eyes open finally to be assaulted by another wave of vertigo as Buffy’s eyes, angry and hurting, looked down at him from where her bleeding, damaged body was pinned to the ceiling.

Before he could pull himself up to his feet, he heard Dawn screech in fury and charge across the room. “Let her go! Stop it! She’s your friend!”

Willow caught her by the throat, holding her at arm’s length while Dawn clawed and struggled to escape. “Poor Dawnie. It must be so hard for you. You used to be some mystic ball of energy. Maybe that's why you're crying all the time, Dawnie.” Her sneer was vicious, making Dawn pull back. “’Cause you don't belong here. Wanna go back? End the pain? You'll be happier. I'll be happier. We'll all be a lot happier without listening to the constant whining. Your work is done here, sweetie.” She reached towards Dawn, her hands bent into a grasping claw. “And I could put all that energy of yours to very good use.” 

Desperate, Giles summoned enough energy to attempt one of the few active spells he actually still commanded. “Solvite,” he intoned, gesturing weakly with one hand.

It was enough. Barely. Willow’s body went rigid, trapped in the stasis of the spell and allowing Dawn to twist out of her now-rigid fingers. With a last, weak cry, Buffy plunged to crash on the detritus scattered across the floor. Dawn raced to her side as Giles fought to maintain the stasis field around Willow. But he was too weak and too out of practice. She shrugged and twisted and the enchantment broke.

“Is that the best you can do, old man?” she tsked, advancing on him. “I’m beginning to think Ripper’s reputation is overrated. But once a sorcerer, always a sorcerer, right? And that fight took a lot out of me. I could use a little appetizer before the main course.”

Before he could stop her, she slapped the palm of her hand against his chest, throwing her head back as a green aura encircled her, crawling up her arm and into her heart.

He had been drained before. Ethan used to feed off him when they were working heavy magics back in the day. But Willow had neither Ethan’s intimacy nor his skill. Giles felt as though she were ripping out his very soul. He could feel it, he knew she wasn’t going to stop until she had it all, regardless of the fact that it would probably kill him. And then she’d turn on Dawn.

The idea came to him like a desperate whisper through the pain. Magic conformed to will, and it was still his energy. Take it, change it, weaken her. Fighting through the pain, he reached up and wrapped his hand around her wrist, holding her so she couldn’t pull away. He focused his mind, pumping into the essence she was stealing every image, every memory of the sweet, generous, strong girl he had know, infusing his energy with the truth about her.

“What are you doing?” she cried out in confusion. “Stop that! Stop thinking about her! She doesn’t exist any more!”

“She’ll always exist,” he said hoarsely, barely able to speak. “She exists in every one of us. And she hates what you’re doing.”

The light around her hand flickered out, the pain wracking him easing as she stopped feeding off of him, breaking his hold to pull away, trembling. “What did you do to me?”

He slumped back against the counter wall in relief. “Just showed you the truth.”

“I don’t need truth,” she sneered. “I need power. And if I can’t get it from you . . .” She turned towards Dawn.

Tara stepped between them, blood trickling down her cheek from the gash she had sustained on her temple. “You aren’t going to touch her, Willow.” She spoke with a deadly, quiet certainty.

Willow sighed. “Fine, I’ll just tap you instead.” She reached out her hand towards Tara’s unflinching chest, only to have it smashed aside by a ruined two by four as Buffy rose once more, bloody and shattered, drawing on her every last reserve to face Willow down.

“You won’t touch them,” she swore, her voice cracked but firm. “Either of them.” 

Without any reaction, Willow backhanded her, sending Buffy careening across the room to crash into the reading table, collapsing it beneath the force of her acceleration. 

Before Willow could reach again for Tara, the front door opened, admitting Joyce and Ethan, who stopped on the landing in horror.

Willow sighed in frustration. “I can’t get anything done around here with all the interruptions. Look, why don’t you all figure out whose ass I kick next while I pop out and crush a couple of bugs. Since Xander and Anya aren’t here, I’m guessing you went with the run for the border plan again. Because that worked so well against Glory.” She sneered down at Buffy’s unconscious form. “At least this time you’re in a coma for a good reason. Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” she said to the room in general. Then she turned into a pillar of black dust and swirled out, blowing glass and debris about in her wake.

Ethan was at Giles’ side in an instant, inspecting his injuries as Joyce and Tara tended to Buffy. “What the hell happened here?” Ethan asked quietly, his hands gentle.

Giles allowed his head to loll to the side, meeting his friend’s dark, confused eyes. “My worst nightmare.”


	3. Alecto the Unresting One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place moments after the events of Megaera and in place of the episodes Two to Go and Grave.

Ethan could feel the rich wash of chaos swirling through the streets as he and Joyce raced to the Magic Box. Despite his “miraculous” cure, she had insisted on driving, leaving him nothing to do but lean his head back against the headrest and taste the energy around him.

It was Willow. He could feel her signature all over it. But it was different somehow, like someone writing with their left hand to disguise their handwriting. A discerning eye could still identify the original author, despite the differences. In this case the differences shifted the energy from the usual clean, random chaos of youth to something darker and more focused. It was like a drug, instantly addictive as he soaked it in, recharging himself.

He was afraid he was going to need it.

All the shops along the street were dark with the usual exception. But the light shining out of Rupert’s window wasn’t the steady gold of late night research sessions. Instead it arced blue-white, flashing and sparking in the telltale signs of broken electrical fixtures and fluorescent lights.

Joyce noticed it as well. “Oh god,” she whispered, leaning forward to see better out the windscreen. “Now what’s happened?”

He closed his eyes. “I have a bad feeling I know.”

She squealed to a halt in the empty street in front of the shop. Ethan was out of the car before she had a chance to shift it out of gear. If indeed she even did. She was right on his heels when he opened the door.

The sight that met them was beyond anything he could have imagined. The shop was in ruins, barely one piece of furniture left standing. The mezzanine ladder suspended disjointedly from one iron handrail, the stairs themselves swaying gently without support. Fluorescent tubes hung down from multicolored wires only to crash into each other, sending showers of sparks and glass cascading onto the floor below.

The Slayer lay brutalized and unconscious on the remnants of the table. Rupert was propped up against the front counter, looking relatively untouched save for the glassy expression in his eyes. In the middle of the floor, Tara stood protectively in front of Dawn, her earth mother aura blazing strongly.

Willow faced her down. Ethan almost had to look away from her. She shone like a black sun, energy writhing around her, powerful but barely controlled. Tendrils of it were reaching out to tangle around Tara, but they snapped back as Willow turned to see him and Joyce standing there.

For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of fear there before she rolled her eyes in frustration. “I can’t get anything done around here with all the interruptions,” she complained, but he was already grounding himself, generating an abolition spell to try to limit her power. But before he could get it off, she had transformed, blowing through them to vanish out the door and into the night.

Joyce was already in motion, racing to the Slayer’s side. Ethan released the energy of the spell and went to crouch next to Rupert. “What the hell happened here?”

For a moment, Rupert didn’t react. Finally, slowly, his head rotated for him to look at Ethan blearily. “My worst nightmare.”

For the first time, Ethan saw the crimson smear on the wood behind Rupert’s head. “I can think of half a dozen of your worst nightmares,” he said, turning Rupert’s head gently the opposite direction to examine the oozing gash at the base of his skull, “at least one of which involves sleeping with me. Could you be more specific?” The blood had already matted into the dark hair around the wound, making it difficult to examine in the dim, flickering light. “Dawn,” he called over his shoulder, “go see if you can find the first aid kit and a few ice packs in the back.”

Looking pale and so impossibly young, the girl nodded and scampered over the debris into the training room.

“Willow,” Rupert mumbled, nearly in tears from both the physical and emotional pain. “She’s lost all control. We tried to reason with her, but she’s beyond that. She tapped me, would have taken all of it if Tara hadn’t stopped her. And she’s killed a man.”

“Two,” the Slayer’s voice came weakly from the other side of the room where she struggled to sit up. “She killed Rack.”

Ethan shrugged. “If ever there was a man who needed killing . . .”

“Some people have thought the same thing about you,” she snapped.

“Buffy!” Joyce protested.

“No, Mom. He doesn’t get to joke about this. Killing them is killing Willow. He can’t make fun of that.”

Ethan was suitably chastened. “You’re right, I am sorry.” He took the ice pack from Dawn as she came up to him to hesitantly offer it. Placing it on the back of Rupert’s head, he grabbed gauze and butterfly bandages before sending her to her mother with the rest of the kit. “So what do we do now?”

“We have to stop Willow before she gets to Anya and Xander. They don’t know how far gone she is. They won’t be able to defend themselves against her.” She waved away Tara and Joyce to try to pull herself up to her feet, promptly collapsing as her left leg gave way underneath her.

Joyce forced her to sit back down. “You can’t go anywhere,” she insisted. “Slayer healing or no, that leg is broken and is going to take more than a few moments to knit.”

To everyone’s surprise, Tara rose to her feet. “I’ll go.”

The others began protesting loudly, but Ethan’s mind began racing along, considering all the possibilities. It might work. With a little help.

“Please,” Tara insisted, “I’m the only one who can do it. She keeps saying she loves me. She won’t hurt me. Right away. And the rest of you are all too weak or hurt to do anything. I’m the only one who can go.”

Ethan got to his feet and went over to face her. “Are you prepared to do whatever you have to?”

Tara’s eyes widened.

“There’s no point in going if you aren’t. If you can’t talk her down, you’ll have no choice, or you’ll just end up making her more powerful than ever.” He kept his voice cold and precise. She had to understand what was at risk here.

Her horror slowly turned to sorrow, and she hung her head. “I’ll do it. If I have to. Even if it means taking both of us.”

“Good.” He crossed over to the ruined shell of Rupert’s desk, digging around until he found one thick volume, bound in white calfskin and gold, singed around the edges. “Historians have hypothesized the presence of precursor Wiccans back to the beginnings of written history and before. Of course they were right, but all that knowledge was transmitted orally, except for this.” He handed her the book. “The Librum Delicatura. White magic. Shields, wards, healing and defenses. I had intended it as a sort of graduation present for Willow, but I’d say she’s failed the practical fairly spectacularly.”

Tara looked a bit taken aback. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly. “This is an amazing gift. But I don’t have enough time to learn all this.”

“Of course you do. Do it the same way she did.” He flipped the book open, holding it out to her.

Uncertainty slowly bled away to determination as she studied him, until finally she lifted her hands and rested them on the pages. With a subtle incantation, the words on the page writhed and began crawling up her arms, inscribed on her pale skin in etched light. Her hair flared as though lifted by a passing breeze and all the darkness faded out of it, leaving it the gold of late wheat. The last of the color leeched out of her pale eyes until only a thin line of black distinguished the iris from the sclera. Even her clothes changed, her t-shirt and organic skirt fading to gold and white. When she lifted her hands from the blank pages, the gentle witch was completely transformed.

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Ethan tossed the now worthless book onto the floor. “It’s not enough. You need more power.” Without hesitating, he began drawing all his essence up into the energy centers of his chest.

She understood his intent almost immediately and shook her head. “No. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s a gift, child. Freely given.” He reached down and took her hand, lifting it up to rest over his heart. “Accept it.”

Amber light flared around her hand, and he felt the energy he had gathered gently seep out of him to be absorbed by her. He hadn’t expected the influx of peace that returned through the connection. When finally she removed her hand, he sank to his knees at her feet, limp and drained but slightly euphoric.

He looked up into her white eyes. “It was given freely, so it’s yours to command. What she took from Rupert is fighting against her, so you’ll have an advantage.”

Rupert must have risen to his feet during the exchange, because he lifted Ethan back to his feet, supporting him. “The two energies are going to be drawn together,” Rupert added. “They are conditioned to working together. We never actually worked magic against each other, so she will have a difficult time making my essence work against his. You can use that.”

Ethan grabbed her wrist. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Trust that and play to your strengths.”

“I’ll remember. Thank you.” She hesitated, then turned to crouch next to the Slayer. Carefully she straightened the shattered leg before running her hands slowly down the length of it, leaving contrails of light in her wake. Then with an enigmatic smile, she took the Slayer’s hands and helped her to her feet. The Slayer’s eyes widened in surprise as she gingerly put weight on it. “It’s not strong,” Tara warned, “but with your healing abilities, you should be fine in a few hours. In case I don’t manage to stop her.”

The Slayer put her arms around Tara, and the two just held each other for long moments, communicating in that silent, intimate way young women had. Then without another word, Tara stepped back, dissolved into a column of amber-golden light, and disappeared up through the ceiling.

Dawn stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the path Tara had taken. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I can’t,” Ethan corrected. “Come on. Let’s move this to the back, if that hasn’t been destroyed as well. We might as well be comfortable while we wait.”

The training room was largely free of devastation, a fine layer of dust covering everything. It was unnaturally quiet, even for such a late hour, but none of them seemed moved to break it. The weight of what was happening pressed down on all of them.

The Slayer leaned her head back against the couch cushions. “Is this what it’s like for you guys?” she asked tiredly. “Waiting while I’m out saving the world?”

Joyce sat on the arm of the couch to stroke her daughter’s hair. “You mean the cold sweat, the frustration, the need to act when there’s nothing you can do? Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

The Slayer closed her eyes and leaned into Joyce’s touch. “Well, it really sucks.”

They all chuckled.

Ethan sat on the far end of the couch, resting his head tiredly in his hand. To his surprise, Dawn sat next to him, curling up into his side innocently to rest her head on his chest. He hesitated a moment before following Joyce’s cue, running his palm over the curve of the girl’s dark hair, the feel of it warm and soft against his skin. She sighed gently and relaxed against him.

The harsh electronic weep of the phone shattered the stillness of the room.

They all stared at it. “It’s too early for word, isn’t it?” Joyce asked fearfully.

The phone sang out again.

“Oh, just answer the damn thing, Ripper,” Ethan groused. “Not knowing about it won’t change what’s happened.”

Rupert limped over to the counter, hesitating another moment before picking up the receiver. “This is Rupert Giles.” They all waited with bated breath for his next words.

It wasn’t what any of them expected. “Yes, thank you, Agatha, we’re aware of the situation.” They all slumped in relief. “We’re attempting to rectify it now. No, thank you, possibly later. And if we are able to get things under control, we may need your services in the recovery. May I call on you? Yes, thank you, I appreciate it.” He hung up the phone without farewell and turned to lean against the counter. “That was a powerful white coven I know in Devon. They wanted to let me know that a dark force is rising in Sunnydale and we should be prepared for it.”

They all stared at him.

The Slayer giggled.

Rupert smiled himself, ducking his head boyishly.

The humor spread until they all were laughing, painful, cathartic laughter that connected them all. Finally Rupert looked up. “Is anyone besides me very tired of magic right now?”

Ethan squeezed Dawn, who was still snickering. “You never did have the stomach for it,” he taunted lightly.

“So you’d like to have another day like today?” he shot back, his tone equally mild.

“No,” Ethan sobered instantly. “I can honestly say I’ve had enough being shot to last a lifetime.”

The Slayer leaned her head against Joyce. “Yeah, I have to agree with you there.” She was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was very small. “I could feel it waiting for me. The light. That . . . place that I was in before.” She looked up at Rupert with lost, childlike eyes. “I remembered how it was, safe and peaceful and easy. It was all I could do to come back.”

Rupert crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you?” He asked compassionately, his eyes as gentle as his voice.

“I had to.” She met his eyes without raising her head. “Things were such a mess here, I’d made such a mess of things, that I just couldn’t go on without fixing it.”

Joyce held her close, kissing the top of her head. “You can’t fix everything, baby. Some things just are the way they need to be.”

“I had to try,” she insisted, not resisting her mother’s affection. “I’ve given up on so much lately, I couldn’t do it again.”

“It’s been a hard year for all of us,” Rupert acknowledged.

Dawn twisted her neck to look up at Ethan. “What about you? Did you see anything?”

The memory assailed him, of darkness reaching for him, cold, scabrous, clutching hands searing him as they grasped and jerked at him, tearing him into thousands of tortured pieces, each aware of the suffering of every other part while enduring its own. It had only been for an instant, but it had felt like an eternity. He trembled at the thought of what an eternity of that would be like. He hugged her close, finding comfort in her presence. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Rupert was watching him with eyes that saw through his deception. Ethan just shrugged. There wasn’t anything he could do to change it now, aside from not dying. Which seemed like an excellent option at the moment.

After that they just sat quietly. The girls dozed off, as did Rupert. Probably not wise with the concussion he was no doubt suffering, but Ethan didn’t think the few hours would hurt him too much.

The sun was just starting to peek up through the window when the phone finally rang again. Rupert roused instantly to answer it, speaking quietly with the person on the other end for a few moments before hanging up and turning back to them. “It’s over,” he sighed in undisguised relief. “That was Xander. He’s putting Jonathan and the other one on a bus to Mexico and then he’s driving the girls all back here.”

“And Willow?” Buffy asked in trepidation.

“Is fine. Tara convinced her with what Xander described as seriously tough love to let go of the energy. Apparently the two will scarcely let go of each other at the moment.”

Ethan set Dawn aside and rose to cross over to him. “That’s not the end of it.”

“I know. There’s enough time to deal with that when the reaction has subsided and they are all back here safely.”

“We won’t be able to help her. Not now.”

“No, I know that.” He sighed. “It will be up to her if anyone will be able to help her at all.”

 

 

Ethan hesitated, unsure if the soft tapping sound was actually coming from his apartment door at all. When it was repeated a moment later, he went and opened it, surprised to find Tara standing uncertainly on the other side.

“Hi,” she said hesitantly.

“Hello.”

She stood there for a long moment, arms folded tightly over her chest, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. “They’re gone,” she said finally. “Giles took her to the airport a couple of hours ago.”

The girl was so discomfited, he didn’t have it in him be his usual snide self. “Yes, I know. He’s going to call when they touch down in London.”

“It’s just . . . The dorm room is so empty now without her, knowing she’s not going to come back. I didn’t want . . . I couldn’t . . .” She stopped, the words too painful for her to speak.

He opened the door wider. “Would you like to stay here for a while?”

She sagged in relief. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Come in.” Closing the door behind her, he continued his interrupted journey to the kitchen. “Can I offer you some tea?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” She followed him into the kitchen.

Filling the electric kettle, he plugged it in as she sat down at the breakfast table. “I’m actually rather surprised you would come here,” he admitted carefully. “I doubt I’m your favorite person right about now.”

She looked surprised. “Why would you think that?”

He leaned back against the counter. “I’m the one who trained her. You were right, back when we started. You said I was killing her. I just didn’t see it at the time.”

“No! You saved her, don’t you see?” She rose and came around the table to rest her hand on his arm. “None of us could have kept her from what happened, only delay it. She just had had all of that inside her for too long. But you at least gave her some boundaries, some focus. Without that, I hate to think of what she might have been capable of when things finally did go wrong. But it would have been a lot worse than it was.” She hesitated. “You haven’t been blaming yourself for what happened, have you?”

“I never blame myself for anything, even the things I’m guilty of.” He covered her hand with his own. “But it’s not unusual for others to blame me.”

“Well, I don’t. If it hadn’t been for you . . .” She dropped her eyes for a moment, and when she looked back up, Ethan could see tears standing in her eyes. “Her being gone is better than her being dead. So I’ll manage.”

The teakettle whistled, shattering the quiet moment. He set about quickly making the tea while she pulled a packet of biscuits out of the pantry. “How about you?” he glanced up as he poured out the tea. “Any aftereffects?”

Arranging the cookies on a plate, she picked one up and began nibbling at it. “I still remember everything. All the magic, I mean. I don’t know how much of it I’d have the energy to cast, but it’s all still there if I need it.”

“Any temptation to use it?”

She sat down across from him, thoughtful. “No, not really. I know it’s there if I need it, but I don’t feel any urgency to use it.”

“Hm.” He sipped at his tea. “It would seem the power came to the right person.”

“You sound surprised.” She toyed with her cup, smiling playfully. “Aren’t you the one pushing the benefits of chaos?”

He set his cup down. “I gave it up for Lent.”

Her eyebrows drew tight together. “Lent was over months ago.”

“I just haven’t gotten back to it.”

“And you aren’t Catholic.”

The girl wasn’t going to let go. And for some reason he felt he owed her some sort of explanation. “Janus and I had a falling out. I’m thinking of becoming a Buddhist.”

“You wouldn’t make a very good Buddhist. You don’t have the humility for it.” She leaned forward, moving into his space. “And it’s too much a part of you. You can deny it, but it’s still there. Isn’t that what you kept telling Willow?”

“I’ll thank you not to throw my words back in my face,” he warned, giving her an evil eye.

She ducked her head apologetically, her ash blonde hair falling to cover her face but not hiding the small smirk curving her lips.

Somehow this shy, quiet young woman laughing at him more than anything else gave him hope for the future.


End file.
